Lost Journals
by KillerMeme
Summary: Based of "Into the Wild" by Jon Krakauer. My own interpretation of the last days of Chris McCandless' life.


_According to page 197 of Into the Wild, Chris McCandless doesn't write in his journal on August 6_ _th_ _, 7_ _th_ _, or 8_ _th_ _. These are his lost journal entries for those dates._

 **August 6** **th**

It's probably ironic that I'm here right now. Alexander Supertramp wouldn't have reached for help. No, he'd probably remain defiant, relying on only himself. I thought he was me, but now I think otherwise.

My body aches and groans. No amount of food is ending my hunger, so I dragged myself up and trekked to the private cabins. Their existence disgusted me: seeing them reminded me that I could never truly escape civilization. How things have changed. Currently I am sitting amidst disarray and destruction, writing on lined paper of luxury. I hoped that there would be some sort of cure, some sort of magical medicine, to counter the effect of what I assume is the potato seeds. But the cabins are trashed. Shattered glass litters the floor, and wooden planks hang from the ceiling. There is no "cure" in sight. Maybe it was a bear, maybe a lone wanderer like me. It doesn't matter. He beat me to the cabins.

The countryside is scolding me, saying I bit off more than I could chew. No modern man can truly live off nature by himself, so I've learned. Let it be an example, then, that I write on this tattered notepad that I found in here. I plan to carry the notepad with me, so I can completely write out my thoughts. It will be something separate from my journal, another way to keep myself occupied.

 **August 7** **th**

I saw a moose. Again. I was returning from the cabins. My feet were cold; I had a rifle strapped to my shoulder. I saw him. His hulking body and nimble legs wandered through the thickets of trees thirty yards away from me. Instinctively my hands grasped and propped my rifle, yet in spite of my starvation, I could not pull the trigger. I wouldn't be able to make use of such a creature. Rather, I'd end up squandering him, all for nothing. Wasteful. No matter how much I consume, I continue to starve.

In fact, I want to be like the moose. During all my travels, I have wanted to be one with the wild. Like the moose, I want to walk with nature, the sun and moon towering above me. I want to be efficient and effective and prosperous. I just want to be _there_. I want to be a part of it all.

The moose is the purity that _Doctor Zhivago_ speaks of. The moose is the happiness that exists anonymously, apart from humanity. He lives life harmoniously: Every day is a new day with its own tasks. When there is no livelihood, the moose wanders in search for one. While there is suffering and pain in this world, the moose lives for his own wellbeing. Upon further thought, perhaps my ultimate goal in this Alaskan adventure is to live that way.

 **August 8** **th**

Most of my time today was spent scavenging the land for new types of berries, and I have little to show for it. I figured that, if my current diet isn't bringing back my strength, then something else might. Desperation clouded my reasoning, though. I will continue to search for food, but my body is becoming irresponsive. Death appears to be imminent.

Presently I am resting against the trunk of a small alder, asking the typical question. Did I live a happy life? Truthfully, I never felt as happy at home as I do here. Washington is a bland place restricted to a rigid cycle of living. Unaware of the world around them, my parents could only see towards their next paycheck. In this cycle, they failed to acknowledge beauty and pain and love and poverty. I disliked them for that. Here, though, I am released from that cycle. My eyes are open, and my mind is refreshed. All in all, with my experiences in the wild, I am certain my life was a happy one.

I think this notepad has served its purpose, albeit a short one. Over these past three days, I've come to understand my fears, my goals, and my philosophies. I will leave the notepad here, lying against the trunk. I guess it will be a memento of my time in Alaska. In fact, it might even be the last thing I write


End file.
